Tommy lay on his back on the floor, breathing deeply in a sound sleep, disturbed neither by the pain in his right hand nor the loud conversation going on around him.

“Look, Tasha, just go home and wait for me. We should be all finished here by, what, about six thirty at the latest?” He looked at Simon, who nodded. Tasha looked down at Tommy's sleeping body, reminded somehow of pictures of angels, and hesitated.

“Is he going to be all right?” she asked Mouse, a with an expression that might have represented compassion, in someone capable of that emotion. “He's really just sort of a sweet kid, you know?”

Mouse choked back his urge to tell Tasha what he really thought of this miserable queerboy; it had taken all of his self control just to keep himself from kicking the kid's face in after he had gone under. “Yeah, he'll be all right, he's just sleeping. I just couldn't stand to see him playing with you like that, you know? I kind of lost it, I guess. We're just going to play a little joke on him, then I'll come over. You stay in that dress tonight, we'll go over to the Taboo, OK?” He gave her rump a little slap, held her face in his usual rough fashion, and added, “C'mon, who's your big man?”

Tasha's eyes locked on his and she sighed. “You know you are,” she smiled, and gave him a little kiss. She went to the door, and looked back. “Call me soon, OK?” and left when Mouse nodded in reply.

Simon watched patiently. He was immensely pleased with the success of his plan, though Mouse had nearly spoiled it, and realized that everyone was now waiting for him to tell them what to do next. He took a moment to savor the sensation of controlling these brutish dolts like so many cattle. “OK, now.” he began, and handed out a couple of pairs of scissors from his bag. “You can start by giving our friend a haircut.” He smiled at their puzzled expressions. “Don't worry; it doesn't have to be a good haircut.” Then, as they still looked blank, he added, “In fact, it's better if it's a very bad one.” Simon almost literally saw three dim light bulbs above their heads glow with a feeble glimmer of understanding, as they went to work. He went back into his bag and pulled out the applicator and dye, and a second pair of handcuffs. Almost as an afterthought, he looked up, tossed Rocky a key, and said, “Oh. And strip him, of course.”

It didn't take long for the guys to reduce the sleeping Tommy's haircut to a rough and uneven pattern of nearly bald spots and randomly placed tufts of blond hair. As Chuck and Mouse worked with their scissors, Rocky removed Tommy's shoes and socks, opened the cuffs, and pulled off his jeans. The haircutting finished just as Rocky, with a moment's hesitation, pulled the sleeper's white silk boxers down his powerful legs. Everyone was suddenly quiet, except for Simon's sudden intake of breath. Chuck broke the silence with a chuckle. “It's a good thing you sent Tasha home, Mouse,” he said. “If she'd seen this equipment, she just might decide she likes the Boyd kid better after all!”

“Just shut the fuck up, Chuck!” Mouse growled, but his voice betrayed his envy. He turned to Simon, who was staring at Tommy's naked form. “Hey, smart boy! Now what happens?”

Simon looked at Mouse with a startled expression. He had not forgotten what Tommy looked like naked, but somehow had not quite been prepared for the reality. “Huh? Oh. Right. OK, I'll get this stuff into the applicator, it'll just be a couple of minutes. Then you can have some fun!”

Cassie was shy, and rarely spoke to anyone but her few close friends, so it is no wonder that so many people underestimated her. And in this case, she had done her research Thursday night, once she heard that something was up. She at least wanted to know where Mouse lived, since the ‘joke’ on Tommy was going to be happening there. Her sister knew a girl from her class who had dated him last year; they had broken up because she didn't like the ‘rough play’ he enjoyed. It had taken a bit of work, but her sister talked to her friend and got the street where he lived and a description of the house; unfortunately, she had never really noticed the house number.

When Kyle called, Cassie knew at once that her worst fears had been realized. She quickly told Kyle everything she had learned, then apologized for not telling Tommy what she had overheard that day at lunch. “I'll feel terrible if something happens to him,” she told Kyle, “but I'll feel even worse not knowing! Please call me when you find out what's happened.”.

“Yes, of course I will. We will both so owe you a lot for this, thank you so much.”

“I just hope it isn't too late,” she said. There was a pause. “You and Tommy are in love, aren't you?”

Kyle nodded, then remembered that this was a phone call, and just said, “Yes, we are.”

“You're very lucky, you know?”

“Yes,” Kyle said. “I know I am. Every day. I'll call you, I promise. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Cassie said; but Kyle had misunderstood. When she had said, “You're very lucky,” she hadn't been talking about just Kyle.

Tommy was still asleep, but Simon wasn't taking a chance on him waking up early; he had cuffed Tommy's ankles together once more, and cuffed his wrists as well, looping them around a support beam in the middle of the garage room, and left him sleeping on his side. The jocks had taken turns with the black henna after Simon had shown them how to apply it. “QUEER” was scrawled mostly legibly on his chest, and “FAG” in huge letters on his back. On his buttocks were the words, “ENTER HERE”. It had been the better part of an hour since they had finished ‘decorating’ Tommy's body. Chuck and Mouse had killed the time (and irritated Simon) by playing cacophonously on some of the old band equipment, but now they were growing impatient.

“How long do we have to wait?” asked Chuck for the fifth time. “Let's just drive him to the school and call it a night!”

“First of all,” Simon reminded him, “it's still too light outside; the sun is just setting. Second of all, if we don't give the henna another half hour at least, he'll be able to wash it out. If it sets long enough, it will dye his skin for two weeks.”

“Where do you learn this shit?” asked Mouse.

“Google is your friend!” smirked Simon with such an irritatingly smug expression that Chuck was about ready to punch his face flat. Seeing this, he hastily added, “Look, there's no point in waiting here. I can watch him. Go in the house and play video games or something, OK?”

Chuck and Mouse brightened up, and Mouse said, “Yeah, I just got the new Madden, you guys up for it?”

Chuck nodded enthusiastically, but Rocky, who had been very quiet since Tommy had been cuffed and left lying there, shook his head. “Look guys, this has worked out great, but, well, you know, I got in a lot of trouble back at Adams? Well, it was for beating up a couple of faggots. If someone sees me and I get connected with this, they'll like really hang me, you know? I hate to bail on you, but I really think I'd better go now. You don't need me any more anyhow, you can carry the little queer to the car yourselves.”

They argued about this for several minutes, but Rocky could not be talked into staying, so as Chuck and Mouse went into the house, Rocky walked slowly up the driveway to the street.

“You think it's OK leaving that faggot Simon alone with him?” asked Mouse as he pulled the game from the shelf.

“Yeah. He won't turn him loose, and if he wants to play with Sleeping Beauty, so much the better, right? OK. I get to be Oakland.”

Rocky walked along the street heading for home. His thoughts were a furious turmoil of conflicting feelings. Fuck, fuck, fuck! It's bad enough the stupid kid's a goddamn faggot, but he isn't even a little bit ashamed of it! And he does girls too! And on top of that, the goddamn queer's got to be so fucking strong, and look some kind of faggot Greek god or something! Like I'm supposed to just ignore that? I should have kicked his ribs in, he has no right to do that to me, to make me feel that way! Goddamn queer! He was shaking his head angrily: angry at himself; angry at his friends; angry at Tommy. Suddenly, right there in front of him, under the light of a lamppost, was the little queer boyfriend. He clenched his fists. Maybe bashing this faggot's face in will help.

Kyle looked up at Rocky, recognizing him as the one who had arm-wrestled Tommy on Monday. He knew he was probably about to get pounded into the ground, but he said simply, “Please. Which house? Please; I love him.”

Years later, Rocky would tell people that this was a turning point, the moment he got his first tiny clue that being gay wasn't just defined by who you have sex with, or where you stuck what, but could be more — much more. But at the moment, all he felt was confusion; he wanted to hit this little fag; he wanted to help him; he wanted to run away; he wanted to cry. With a calmness he didn't feel, he just said, “White house; ivy on the front fence. But don't go there. They'll just hurt you too.” And without waiting for Kyle to say anything that would just make it worse, he hurried away. Kyle forgot all about calling Ron, and went to Mouse's house at once, his mind summoning a thousand horrible images about what had been done to Tommy (hurt me too?). Quietly, he went up the driveway to the garage, and listened at the door. He didn't know who was in there — the whole football team? — but could guess what would happen if he were discovered. So at first, all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

Alone with Tommy, Simon just stood over his sleeping form for a full minute, staring at him. “You know, you're the only person I've ever wanted this way. I spotted you almost the first day of school, and it didn't take long for me to find out all about you. You two probably thought you'd simply been careless in the boy's room, but I'd followed you in so quietly, there was no way you could have known I was there. And I wasn't asking all that much; I just wanted what you give away so easily to girls like Tasha or that wimpy little boyfriend of yours.” With some effort, he sat Tommy up, propping his back against the support beam, and gently, even affectionately, ran his hand through the wreck of his haircut. “You know, if you'd just given me a chance, we could have been friends. I could do so much for you, get you anything you like — girls; steroids; maybe even fix some grades, though your transcript doesn't look like you'd need that.” Simon knelt beside Tommy and his hands felt the weight of the relaxed, but still firm and solid, muscles of his arms and chest. “We'd have been so awesome as a team, Tommy! With my connections and brains, and your muscles for enforcement? Man, we could have owned the whole school!”

Simon's expression darkened. “But you made your choice. It's almost dark now. In a few minutes, we'll take you back to school, just as you are. You're going to spend the night cuffed to the fence, or if you manage to get loose, you'll have to walk home naked with those nice tattoos. You just might find your clothes and stuff waiting for you there. Those tattoos, though, will stay with you for a while, to remind you and your boyfriend and everyone in the locker room just how ‘invincible’ you really are.”

The skinny boy's hands slid down Tommy's almost impossibly chiseled abdominals, and down between his legs. “Such a pity,” Simon murmured, “but for now, anyway, I can have you to myself.” He smirked as his hands felt a stirring between Tommy's legs. He gave a little squeeze. “You seem to be having a nice dream; is your boyfriend in it? So much the better.” So saying, he leaned forward to kiss the sleeping boy's chest. Slowly, his tongue began to work its way down Tommy's abdomen, while his hands reached around the bottom of his back, and his finger began to probe the top of the buttocks.

“If your finger goes in there, you will die.”

Simon stood up and stepped back, startled to hear Tommy speak. His eyes were still closed, and his expression hadn't changed. “Are you awake?” he asked sharply.

Simon turned around. He didn't know Kyle well, but the look of livid fury on the younger boy's face would have been new even to Tommy. If his eyes lit up whenever they saw Tommy, now they shone with darkly blazing anger. He drew back his fist, and with more force than he had ever used in his gut-punching play with Tommy, drove it hard into Simon's belly. Simon folded up like a broken puppet and fell to the floor with a short cry, and lay there struggling to breathe. Kyle was too furious to be able to get any satisfaction from the moment, but when he turned to Tommy, he saw that his friend was smiling proudly at him.

“Get the key!” Tommy said, pulling for the first time at the cuffs on his wrists and ankles and feeling their sharp edges bite at his skin.

Kyle pulled Simon up roughly by the front of his shirt. “Key!” was all he said, but Simon needed no persuasion, for he was now every bit as afraid of Kyle as he would be of Tommy.

“Right pocket,” he gasped. Kyle found the key and pushed its owner back to the ground. He turned and knelt beside Tommy, unlocking the cuffs that bound his ankles.

“Are you all right?” he asked, as he walked around the support beam that held Tommy captive. “What happened?”

“I'm not quite sure,” Tommy said. “There were three football players, and Tasha. We had a fight; I think there was something in the drink. What time is it?”

As Kyle glanced at his watch, suddenly Simon got up, and ran out of the garage towards the house, yelling “He's loose! Help! Hurry!”

Kyle fumbled with the key and handcuffs, hurrying to free Tommy before reinforcements arrived. As the second ring opened with a satisfying click, Chuck and Mouse trotted into the room to see what the yelling was about. Tommy stood quickly, positioning himself betwen the two football players and Kyle. With an inarticulate growl, Mouse rushed at Tommy and aimed a punch at his face, but Tommy ducked the punch rather easily and, with his left hand, grabbed at Mouse's wrist. But then he realized his mistake; with Tommy occupied, Chuck started to edge around Tommy towards Kyle, who stood behind Tommy with his own back against the support pillar to which his friend had been cuffed a minute before.

Tommy twisted away from Mouse without releasing him. Although his right hand throbbed with pain, he grabbed Chuck and squeezed his forearm with all the force he could muster, crying out from the pain as he did so.

Chuck spun around and threw a hasty punch at Tommy's chest, as a new voice from the doorway cried out, “Jesus Christ, Tommy, what the Hell did they do to you?!”

The handsome young man in the tuxedo charging in the doorway was well known to the football players; they had thought they had seen the last of him after he had graduated last year.

“Boyd!” exclaimed Mouse.

“Ron Boyd,” clarified Chuck, managing to twist himself loose from Tommy's agonized hand.

Ron had taken in the situation in an instant, and when he saw his little brother's bruised face and fat lip, saw his ruined hair, saw the epithets scrawled on his naked body, and heard his cry of pain, he was consumed with a fury unlike any he had ever known. He rushed at Chuck and struck him repeatedly with unrestrained punches to his body and his face. Chuck made a couple of attempts to block the punches and then to back away, but it was to no avail. A punch to the jaw brought Chuck to the ground, and he lay there, unconscious. Ron, who at that moment was literally ready to kill these guys, lifted Chuck's limp form. He was about to hurl it with all his strength through the mirrored closet doors when the only force in the universe that could have stopped him intervened.

“Ron, stop! I'm OK! I'll be OK! Stop!”

Ron turned around. His brother stood there panting, with the unconscious Mouse lying at his feet. Tommy grinned at his big brother. “They go down pretty easy, really, don't they?”

Ron's head cleared as the berserk rage faded, then he went over and gave his brother a warm hug. “I was so worried, are you sure you're OK? God, your hair is a mess, and those tattoos …”

“I think my hand is bruised is all. Wait a minute — what tattoos?”

It took a while before Tommy realized what had been done. As Kyle told him how he looked, Ron looked around at the ‘garage band’ equipment and started to chuckle, then to laugh almost hysterically. Kyle and Tommy looked at him in bemusement. “I can't help it,” Ron gasped between laughs. “These guys are such losers! They can't play football worth a damn, they can't fight worth a damn, and … this equipment is … just … such … crap!” and laughed some more, releasing at last the worry and tension that had been building during the last hours. Finally, he took a deep breath, and spoke again.

“I suppose that skinny guy running away from the house was Simon?” Kyle nodded. “Well, if this was his idea, these guys will probably have a few words with him, I don't think you need to do anything about him,” Ron said thoughtfully. “But what should we do with these guys? Just leave them?”

Kyle had been searching through the room, and had found the bundle containing Tommy's clothes, including his cell phone; he also had discovered the henna applicator. Now he grinned with an expression of mischief that Tommy recognized very well. “I have an idea,” he said, and withdrew a condom wrapper from the pocket of Tommy's jeans. “If Ron can wait a few more minutes, and if Tommy feels ‘up’ to it, I think we can leave these guys with a little memento.” He explained his idea.

Ron looked at his watch. “If we can do this in fifteen minutes, I can get you guys home and still make the concert OK. Tommy?”

“It'll be a pleasure.” He turned to Kyle, who was holding him by his left hand, and kissed him. “Especially if you help.”

Kyle's eyes gleamed. He glanced down and saw that Tommy was indeed ready. “The pleasure will be all mine.”

About a mile away, Chuck shook Mouse. “Wake up! Wake up man! Ow, shit! I think that fucker broke one of my ribs or something. You've got something on your ass!”

Mouse opened his eyes and sat up. His head was throbbing. He and Chuck were naked. Between them was a used condom, still sticky. And on the buttocks of each guy was tattooed, in permanent black henna, “TOMMY WAS HERE”.